Home Sweet Home
by littleoracle
Summary: Nightwing's ankle is healing had he travels to home turf to exercise it. Just a quiet, little moment between Dick and Bruce.


Shoot the grapple. Test. Breathe. Jump. 

I swing, flying across the canyon of glass and steel and stone below me. Concentrate now, got to land this just right. Perfect. My left ankle feels it, still hasn't healed completely. Got to be extra careful with it for a while, and that's why I'm here. I know these buildings better than the ones in New York. Even better than the rooftops of the 'Haven. The memory of that town makes my stomach lurch.

Got to keep moving, no time to think about that. My line shoots out and in seconds I'm on the next roof, a bit higher up than I was before. I keep moving. Don't think now, Dick, just keep moving. And watch that ankle.

I climb, the noise of the street fading behind me until I'm high atop Wayne Tower. I'm home.

I breathe in, the breezes bringing me the scent of clean sea air instead of the fumes and stench of the city below. Listening to the wind, I stand at the precarious edge and look out across the town. Lights flicker and blink, but no car horns or backfiring engines reach my ears. It's a kind of sanitized view, one that I don't take for granted because I understand what lies beneath this facade of sparkle.

This is my inheritance, if ever the day should come when Bruce is gone. The mansion? Yes, I'll get that, along with Alfred. The money? The company? Yup, that'll be mine, too. Tim and I will split it all, fifty-fifty, like the good brothers we've become. But that's just details, that's just things and money. No, Bruce's bequest to us will be larger than that, the size of a city, in fact.

There's a mantle that someone needs to take on when he leaves. I used to think it would be my task to wear that cowl, that suit, and I used to want it, too. Now? I don't think it's for me anymore. I've changed, grown up, become 'my own man' as they say. No, Tim will get to be the Bat. He needs it more than I do, but I'll be with him every step of the way.

Backing away from the edge, I stretch my ankle, test it by jumping a couple times. A cold gust blows by me and I'm thankful for the thermal lining under my suit. With little else to do, I move through an old kata I've not worked on in years. Bruce can meditate, Tim, too, but not me. If I sit for more than a couple minutes I just spiral into my own head, thoughts and memories doing their best to keep me from focusing. I've gotten better at it over the years, growing more focused out of necessity, though sometimes I'll still find myself trying to banter with whoever's fighting at my side. Underneath it all, I'm still a scared, mouthy kid with something to prove.

A few moves from the end I freeze mid-motion. Under the wind I hear a rustle of wings and I know I'm being watched. It still amazes me to this day. Few would have caught the sound and if I was less focused I would have missed it, too. Taking a slow, deep breath, I finish the exercise and turn toward the shadow behind me.

"Hello, Batman."

He steps into the dim light filtering up from street level. Broad-shouldered, dark, imposing. Despite the adoption years ago, I've never been able to call him Dad.

"Dick." he replies, moving closer.

I smile, "So we're alone then?"

He gives a curt nod and steps to the edge of the building, taking a look down. It's something he's taught all of his 'kids' to do; a reminder to ourselves that it really is that far down and we're not Superman.

"I've had the Tower roof shielded for sound and visual. No one can see or hear us up here unless we want them to."

I shake my head and grin. Knowing Bruce, he did the job himself. No chance that anyone would scatter rumors that way.

"Good to know." This is how it always is between us, choppy sentences, bits of information, but there is love there under it all, at least from my end and I'm pretty sure from his, too.

"How's the ankle?" He asks, though I never mentioned the injury. That's Barbara's doing. Keeping tabs on everyone is her job, though I'm sure in my case it's more of a chore now than a pleasure.

"Healing. Strong enough to get up here, anyway."

"You're staying for a while then?" He asks, stepping away from the ledge and meeting my eye with that famous, steady gaze.

Part of me is still the kid looking for attention and I wonder if I told him no, would he ask me to stay anyway, just because he'd like to see me?

"A while, yeah. I need to get this leg back in shape and New York is still too new to me. Got lost in Brooklyn last week."

"I'll let Alfred know, he'll have your room ready by the time we get there." No admonisment, he knows I'm working my ass off to learn the city. That's the best sign of faith you'll get from Bruce; no further questions.

"And how is the old man? And Tim?" Yes, it'll be good to be around family for a bit. Still miss Babs, though.

"Good, both good." For Bruce, that speaks volumes.

The night is still young and there's patrol to do. I can almost feel his tension from here; he needs to be out there, watching the city.

"My bike is downstairs, I should head to bed." I give him the out and I catch the slightest shift in his posture as he relaxes. There will be time to talk a bit more in the morning.

"I'm glad you're home, Dick." A hand rests on my shoulder for a second, but by the time I turn, the shadows have swallowed him.

"Me, too, Bruce."


End file.
